It's Not About the Blood
by Haripoons
Summary: Draco and Hermione find themselves the only two left alive after the war. Armed with a burning desire to fix things, and a time travel spell, they decide to go back and stop the war before it even starts. Dramione.
1. Chapter 1

Hermione stands in the dusty ruins of Hogwarts. Countless corpses litter the blood-stained earth. She stares at the faces of her dead friends blankly. No tears. She's been unable to cry for a while. She gazes at the corpses of Fred and George, torn to pieces by one dark spell or another, faces frozen in identical masks of terror. Even in death she has trouble telling them apart. Beside them is Ginny, poor, sweet Ginny, who took a blood freezing curse for Harry when his back was turned. Ron, Bill, Charlie, Tonks, Lupin, Neville, Luna. Everyone she's ever cared about lays dead in the ruins of the school that she loved.

Harry's final expression is one of anguish. After Ginny took the curse for him, he'd thrown himself into the battle, taking on multiple death eaters at once, but eventually, they overtook him. It doesn't matter that Voldemort is dead and the last survivor is Hermione, a member of the Order of the Phoenix. As far as she is concerned, there have been no winners in this war. Everyone dead, everything destroyed. Hermione feels hollow. What can she do; what should she do, now that her purpose is gone? There is nothing left. Why did she survive out of everyone? They were all fighting together until one by one, a curse brought each of her friends down. Why was she spared?

Hermione feels a presence behind her and whips around, wand drawn. Draco Malfoy smiles grimly, hands in the air: "I'm not an enemy," he reminds her.

She nods and pockets her wand. Halfway through the war, Draco had switched sides, joining the Order of the Phoenix and giving them important information regarding Voldemort's plans. Harry and Ron had been surprised, but Hermione had not. As much of an arrogant ponce as Draco was, he wasn't a killer or ruthless murderer like his father and the other death eaters. Draco did have a conscious and eventually it was able to override his upbringing. Hermione knew it must have been incredibly hard for him.

Lucius had been furious, obviously, and in a raid a few weeks ago, Draco had been forced to kill his father in order to save their group. His mother committed suicide soon after. Draco refuses to speak of the incident, but Hermione knows it must have hit him hard.

"So you and I are the only ones left alive then, huh? The mudblood and the blood traitor." Hermione's lips turned up in a grim parody of a smile.

"Yes," Draco admits, "But it can't end like this. There's no point."

"What do you suggest we do then," Hermione counters coolly, "Everyone is dead, except us. Hogwarts is destroyed. The magical world is in ruin. We can do nothing."

Draco took a deep breath. "I have an idea," he murmurs, "It's probably impossible, but if there were any chance . . ." he trails off, shrugging, knowing Hermione will accept even if there is practically zero chance his plan will work.

"What is it, then?" Hermione asks a bit curiously. Even a massacre at school can't stop her from being eager for knowledge, Draco notes with amusement.

"Well," Draco starts, hesistating, "I found some books in the family library, in the closed off section that had been warded. They crumbled after my father died, and there was this one book . . ."

He pulls the book out of his bag and shows it to Hermione. "It's just this one paragraph in the last chapter, I don't really think it's possible, but you should probably check it out just in case."

Hermione reads the passage, looking skeptical. "No, no, no" she mutters, "This can't possibly—" Suddenly she stops. "Oh my god, Hermione breathes, this . . . this might actually work."

The passage is just a tidbit added by the author about theoretical time travel of souls.

"It's not possible of course," Draco tells her, "Everyone knows you can't send a soul back in time because your body from that time period will already have a soul and they would fight for space, but I thought maybe it would help give you an idea . . ." He trails off, looking at her hopefully.

"No Draco this is brilliant," Hermione breathes.

"It is?"

Hermione snickers, her first genuine expression of amusement in months, "Of course a wizard would never figure it out, thinking memories are part of the soul. I swear, this whole society is completely backwards."

"Hermione what do you mean?" Draco asks.

"Muggles have found that memories are just signals in the brain, they're biological, not spiritual, and unlike with souls, a brain can fit many memories so it doesn't matter if we send a bunch more back in time."

Draco stares at her in shock, "So you're saying we can actually—"

"Yes," Hermione says simply, "We can, technically, go back in time."

The next months are spent researching and researching and researching. Draco watches Hermione with a mixture of horror and amusement. She manages to get through hundreds of books a day, both muggle and magical, while cross-referencing and taking notes that only she is able to decipher.

Draco sits in the study of Malfoy Manor as night is falling, writing a letter to the Chinese wizarding world to look for a book Hermione has been wanting to get her hands on for their little "project." Suddenly, the door is slammed open, and Hermione comes bursting into the office, eyes tired but bright, with a wide smile stretching across her face.

"It's finished."


	2. Chapter 2

They stand across from one another in the entrance hall of the manor. Hermione calms her shaking hand. This absolutely has to work. It has to.

"Don't forget," she reminds Draco, "We have to cast the spell at exactly the same time or only one of us gets sent back."

"I know," Draco laughs nervously, "You've only told me ten millions times."

"Don't joke about this," Hermione scolds him, "One wrong move and your brain will—"

"Yes, yes, I know" Draco interrupts her, "My brain will be destroyed and I'll turn into a drooling vegetable for the rest of my pathetic life."

"I'm glad you understand," Hermione harumphs, "This is, after all, the single most important spell you'll ever cast in your life."

"And you're the genius that invented," Draco reminds her.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she retorts, but Draco sees a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. His brilliant Hermione. She's probably oblivious to the depths of his affection for her, such a Gryffindor, but if, no, when the spell works, he wants her to be his. He smirks, and everybody know what a Malfoy wants, a Malfoy gets.

Hermione carves the correct runes into the floor in front of her feet as Draco mirrors her movements. Their breathing is accelerated, their hands shake. "NOW!" Hermione yells, just as the moon illuminates a perfect circle on the floor. They thrust their wands at each other and scream the spell in unison, just as they'd practiced. "This had better work," Hermione thinks, as her vision darkens. The last thing she sees is Draco's body crumpling to the ground just as she feels her knees begin to buckle. They lock eyes for a fleeting moment and then everything goes dark.

Eleven year old Hermione sits on her bed cross legged, reading a thick book about the history of the Great Wall of China.

"Time for dinner, Sweetie," her mother calls from downstairs.

"I'm coming mom," Hermione responds, marking her page with a worn bookmark and hopping lightly off her bed.

As she opens the door, a ball of white light floats toward her. Hermione blinks, surprised. "What is that?" she wonders.

The orb of light slowly floats closer and she reaches out her hand to touch it. Her fingers move closer . . . closer . . . closer . . . and –

Hermione opens her eyes to her mother's worried face staring down at her. "Mom?" she asked, shocked. Her parents are dead.

"You fainted, Sweetie, are you alright?" her mother asks, worried.

"Oh my god," Hermione thinks, "It worked. It actually worked."

She smiles up at her mother, "I'm fine mom, better than fine, even." Her eyes are bright with unshed tears as she remembers seeing her mother's corpse chained to the front of her house for everyone to see. That had been the end of her morality during the war. At first, her and Harry and the rest had used relatively harmless spells like stupefy and binding curses. After Luna was taken and tortured to death, they realized light spells weren't going to cut it. However, for Hermione, it wasn't until her mother was murdered that she truly shed all qualms about making the death eaters suffer. God knows how many times she'd used a crucio or imperio in the past months of the war.

But now she's back! Back and free and with everyone happy, innocent, and alive. She can set things right. At that moment, an owl swoops into her room and drops a letter on her lap.

"Why was that owl carrying a letter," Hermione's mother wonders, confused.

"I don't know, Mom," Hermione responds with a grin, "Let's open it and find out."

Draco races through the sky on his broom, enjoying the feeling of the wind whooshing past him. He looks down at the ground for a moment and sees something shimmering down by the grass. Draco lands, and dismounts, slowly moving closer to the shimmering orb of white light. The orb brightens as he gets closer and floats towards him as he reaches out his fingers –

Draco opens his eyes with a start and quickly sits up from the grass. Gazing around him. Malfoy Manor stands in front of him, looking as imposing as ever. Draco, barely daring to hope, runs inside to find a mirror. He stands in front of the gold framed mirror, and moves his hand. His eleven year old reflection mirrors his actions.

"It worked," Draco breathes. A slow grin spreads across his face. This is going to be so much fun.


	3. Chapter 3

"I told you Mom," Hermione says, "Reassuring her parents for the fiftieth time. I'm just going to be wandering around Diagon Alley. It's one of the safest places in the wizarding world. Go and look around. I can get my things by myself. I'll be fine. Honest."

Hermione's mother bites her lip as she's ushered out of the wizarding book store, Flourish and Blotts, Hermione's been acting so mature lately, she doesn't know what's gotten into her daughter. And sometimes she'll catch her just staring out the window with an odd look in her eyes. And she's so jumpy! If Mrs. Granger didn't know Hermione she'd think her daughter had been through a war. The ways he moves it's like she's always alert; always completely aware of everything going on in the room.

Hermione sighs with relief as her parents finally leave. She loves them, but her mother is extraordinarily perceptive and she knows her mom realizes that something is off. She meanders around the store, surreptitiously flipping through the seventh year books on the Hogwarts list.

Someone grabs her and covers her mouth with their hand, muffling a scream as they pull her into the corner. Hermione slides a hidden knife out her sleeve, ready to defend herself at a moments notice.

"For Merlin's sake Hermione don't stab me!" A voice hisses in her ear.

Hermione whips around, furious, "Draco Malfoy, you can not sneak up on me like that!"

Draco smirks, "A little off your guard, eh, Hermione?"

Hermione rolls her eyes: "I was seconds away from running a knife through your lung, you idiot."

Draco lets out a short laugh but quickly becomes serious. "Alright," he sighs, "How are we going to do this? Should I adopt a pro-muggle born view from the beginning or should I stay an arrogant prat and betray Voldemort at the last second?"

"Be pro-muggle born," Hermione tells him with conviction, "You'll be able to befriend Harry, and maybe even Ron, and our planning won't look as suspicious if anyone catches us. Plus that whole 'spy till the last moment' thing didn't work out too well for Snape so there's no guarantee that it'd go any better for you."

Draco nods in agreement before his face splits into a malicious grin: "I wonder what my father will think of all this."

Hermione slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle a giggle, then pulls Draco over to a secluded corner of the store so they can start planning.

Hermione stands by a bookshelf as Draco makes his way outside, waiting for the signal. Draco spots his father walking back from Knockturn Alley and holds up three fingers behind his back. Hermione counts under her breath as Lucius Malfoy comes closer: Three . . . Two . . . One . . .

Just as the Malfoy patriarch reaches his son, Hermione bursts out of the bookstore at top speed. "Draco," she gasps, feigning surprise, "It's been so long." She pulls him into a stifling hug.

"He-llo Hermione," Draco responds enthusiastically, as if they hadn't just been plotting in Flourish and Blotts two minutes ago.

"Draco," Lucius Malfoy's tone is dangerously even. "Who is your . . .," his eyes narrow in distaste, " . . . friend?"

"Father," Draco starts, his tone formal, "Allow me to introduce Hermione of the House of Granger."

The Malfoy patriarch's eyes narrow further, and he glares down at his son. Draco makes puppy dog eyes at Hermione and uses legilimens to communicate: "Hermione can you please distract him before he kills me or takes me to St. Mungo's?" Draco begs in her mind.

Hermione sighs: "Not part of the plan," she responds. Draco's eyes widen further and he juts out his bottom lip. Hermione turns her head away. Dang, she forgot how cute he was at age eleven when he wasn't being an arrogant prat. Eventually she relents, unable to withstand the full force of Draco's puppy eyes any longer.

Hermione pastes a bright smile on her face and turns to look up at Draco's father: "You wouldn't happen to be the Lucius Malfoy, would you?" she asks, eyes clear and guileless.

"I am . . . " he stares down at her, confused. How does this little mudblood know his name?

"Omigod," Hermione gushes, "I- I've always been such an admirer. They say you were one of the greatest minds in your generation and I really admire your work in purging mudbloods from the wizarding world and I can'tbelieveI'mactuallygettingtomeetyou

andIwasthinkingoftryingtogetsortedintoSlytherinjusttobelikeyoubecauseyou'resoamazing –"

At this point Draco is barely holding back hysterical laughter, amazed at how well Hermione is acting. And his father's face is so incredulous. He snickers quietly before interrupting his friend's tirade. "You can talk to my father later, Hermione," he sighs, playing the part of the exasperated eleven-year-old, "Your parents are probably looking for you right now."

"Yes Draco," Hermione responds obediently. "Whatever you say." She practically skips back into the bookstore, trying to keep from cackling all the while.

Lucius stares after Hermione blankly, extremely unsure of what just happened, although he'd never admit it. "I've got my supplies Father, let's go home," Draco tugs on his sleeve.

"Draco," Lucius looks down at his son, "Who was that girl and how do you know her?"

"What girl, Father?" Draco blinks up at him, fake worry in his eyes, "You just came back from Knockturn to pick me up. Are you feeling alright?"

"Draco," Lucius says warningly.

Draco curses inwardly, damn, he had forgotten how good his father was at spotting manipulation and false emotions. "I'll explain later Father, it's a long story," Draco gets out through gritted teeth. Damn, the manipulation failed, though he'd half suspected it would. Now he has to contact Hermione so they can come up with a scenario where they "met" one another.

Lucius gives his son one last searching look and then apparates them both back to the manor.


End file.
